Mastering the Flames
by AdrianaRose
Summary: Based on FIRESTARTER. Charlie's in college and believes the worst is over...but someone seems to disagree.
1. Default Chapter

MASTERING THE FLAMES ~This is my idea for a Firestarter fanfic. Please review and tell me whether or not I should continue. Feel free to give any ideas you may have, also. Thanks.~   
**~AN: **Dreamian and Mr. D'Salle are my own creations. I don't own Charlie. That one is Mr. King's. * denotes a character's thought.~   


**Mastering the Flames**

Charlie attended anger-management classes every Wednesday night. She had to. Living on campus among so many people…so much stress. She didn't want another incident like the Shop to occur.   
  
Seated beneath a large oak, Charlie watched her fellow classmates hurry off to whatever party was happening that Friday night. She never went to any of the campus parties. Too much risk. Plus, she enjoyed being alone every once in a while.   
  
It was autumn, Charlie's favorite season. The temperature was always perfect for sitting outside and watching the sun go down. She reveled in the warm colors of the changing leaves. Such beauty…Charlie sometimes felt she did not deserve it.   
  
*Daddy would love it here,* she thought sadly. *I wish he were here.*   
  
Charlie sighed, letting herself drift to sleep beneath the dancing leaves of the oak tree. 

  
The room was a drab gray, barely reflecting what little light came through the dirty windows. It was a small room with just enough space for a cot and a small desk. There was no chair. Dreamian had broken it several months earlier.   
  
Dreamian sat in the center of the room, starring at the blank gray walls. His eyes, an odd shade of gold, though seemed to be focused on the wall, watched something far beyond the confines of the room. They moved quickly from side to side as if looking for something. Any random person would have thought him to be nuts; just another lunatic watching imaginary images. But Dreamian wasn't nuts. At that moment, he was standing among a constantly moving crowd, though he remained in the bleak room. Faces and expression filled his vision briefly before disappearing amongst the sea of people.   
  
Dreamian growled, his patience running short. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of people had walked past him within the six hours he had been searching and still no sign of her. Mr. D'Salle had said she would be at the campus. Then why couldn't he find her?   
  
"Dreamian," a voice called from the other side of the door.   
  
*Well, speak of the devil.*   
  
"Any luck on the girl?"   
  
Dreamian shook himself from the trance, long black hair brushing against his bare shoulders. One of these days, he would teach that man not to interrupt him like that.   
  
"No, Mr. D'Salle. No sign of her anywhere. Are you sure you gave me the right campus?"   
  
Whispers erupted beyond the door. Dreamian only smiled, slipping back into the trance. He would find the MacGee girl. No matter the cost.   



	2. Others?

MastFlame2 ~Ok, ok. I know it has been a while but with recent events and school, I've had little time to work on anything. Then of course my computer hates me so it takes some time to get the dumb thing to work....but anyways. On to Chapter Two!~   
*Mr. D'Salle, Dreamian, and Azela are creations of my own sick, twisted mind. Charlie's still Mr. King's*   
**Mastering the Flames**   
** Chapter 2: Others?**   


Charlie awoke suddenly from her dream. She had been trapped, like an animal. Her hands and feet had been shackled to something, but all she could see were dull gray walls. She had felt hot. Not the kind of hot she felt on a summer day. No, this was a heat that burned from the inside out. The kind of heat she felt just before the flames. Part of her told her it was only a nightmare. The other part screamed for her to awaken because the heat was real.   
  
That's why she had awakened so suddenly. Her eyes, wide with terror, searched the area around her for signs of smoke or fire. Nothing. She had gotten lucky that time.   
  
Shaking, Charlie stood, stuffing her books into her old denim bag. She shrugged, trying to look calm as she followed a group of girls to the Library. 

  
Mr. D'Salle sat slowly at his desk. With one hand, he knocked a pile of old fast food bags to the floor as the other hand slammed a folder on the new free spot. He paid little attention to the thick smell of rotten food and dust wafting through the air. Instead he focused on the folder, at least an inch thick with papers. Across the top, someone had wrote "MacGee, Charlie" in a dying permanent marker. Everything he needed to know was in that folder. Date of birth? Page 3. Blood type? Page 6. The girl's entire life lay within the tattered folder.   
  
D'Salle chuckled silently. _Symbolic?_   
  
"Mr. D'Salle," a young man popped his head in the door, apparently unaware of his rude entrence.   
  
Sighing long and deep, the aging man tossed the folder to a pile by his seat. He would look at it later, when he knew no one would disturb him.   
  
"What is it-," he squinted to read the man's name tag, "-Bobby?"   
  
"The Children are getting restless, sir," Bobby spoke with a slight hint of fear to his tenor voice. "X-109 has already injured three nurses."   
  
"Did you administer any tranquilizers?"   
  
Bobby, gathering a little more courage, stepped further into the room, revealing his white scrubs. He was a tiny man with little muscle on him. D'Salle wondered for a moment why he had hired the man, but did not give the thought more than a few seconds of his time.   
  
"Yes, sir. But it seems to have done little to calm them."   
  
"Alright. I'll be down in a moment."   
  
The young man nodded, a tiny, uncertain grin playing on his lips as he made to exit.   
  
"Wait," D'Salle ordered to stop the boy mid-stride. "What about Dreamian? Any luck?"   
  
Briefly, the young man appeared confused as if the name did not register, but soon the answer came to him.   
"Yes, sir. He's found her. Happened right before the other Children began acting up."   


Dreamian tossed and turned on the cot, his sheets a crumpled pile on the cold cement floor. He could see her. Her curly blonde hair pulled back in a pony tail. Alert eyes moving rapidly to soak every bit of information from the book she held firmly in front of her. She seemed to cling to the book as if it were the only thing keeping her safe in the lonely, empty library. As he watched her read, bent over an oak table to find light, Dreamian could only think of the pictures he'd swiped from D'Salle's folder. Pictures of a younger Charlie, the scared pryrokenetic 8-year old.   
  
He sighed in his trance. Charlie was no longer a tiny girl hiding in her father's shadow. No, now she was a young woman, fully aware of her capabilities. It was going to take a lot of strength and power to bend and break her control of her pyrokenisis. Dreamian was always up for a challenge.   
  
Somewhere outside, a woman screamed, drawing Dreamian from Charlie. He could hear Mr. D'Salle shouting orders, his monotone voice reverberating off the metal panel walls. Once or twice he heard his name but disregarded anything the old man said as he tried to calm the others.   
  
_Finding her was the easy part_, he sighed, the thought broadcasting among his siblings.   
  
_At last_, a soft, female voice cheered, _the one that got away_. _What do you suppose he shall do with her?_   
  
A thick, husky laugh filled Dreamian's mind, blocking the continued screams of the woman outside. _D'Salle will place her in a cage like us, that's what he'll do. What else is there to do with people like us?_

_ I say we use her,_ a voice undistinguishable between male or female chuckled wickedly. Dreamian could not help but cringe at the third voice. Of all of his siblings, Aleza was the most unstable.   
  
_Hush, Aleza. We shall decide was becomes of the Firestarter when she gets here_, the female instructed, revealing a bit of sense in her usuall insanity.   
  
Dreamian severed the connection between the siblings. D'Salle would become suspicious should he find Dreamian and the others staring into space together. It was best to keep the man as oblivious to the truth as possible. For instance, his finding Charlie. Yes, he planned to tell D'Salle that he had found her, maybe he would tell him what dorm. But he would not tell the old man that Charlie was harboring more than just pyrokinesis or that he never planned to give her to him.   
He wanted Charlie.   
_They all_ wanted Charlie.   



	3. Skye

1 ~Hello again. I know it has been a long, long time since I have last posted something up for this story. But recently I was encouraged to pick it back up (Thank ya Sairys (). Anyways, this chapter is about one of Dreamian's siblings, Skye. Its about…well, you'll see. If you get confused, I'm sorry, I'm really good at doing that to people. Ok, enough rambling. On with the show!~  
  
2 Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing so it is pretty safe to assume I don't own Firestarter's main characters. Skye, Azela, D'Salle, and Dreamian, however, are mine.  
  
3  
  
4 Chapter 3  
  
4.1 Skye  
  
She had been born in the Shop, raised in the Shop. The Shop had been her life for half of a decade before she destroyed it all. When they brought her to the Shop, Skye was to control the little pyro, to make sure she did not fry anyone. Who better to fight a pyro then a child with hydrokinetic abilities? But D'Salle was scared. He was afraid something might happen to Skye, his little 'baby.' So, he sent her away, to one of the minor branches of the Shop. It was there she was supposed to be safe. It was there that things went out of control.  
  
She could remember when it happened. She was seven, nearly eight. The Shop was long gone, leaving the minor branches to survive on their own. Skye knew little of what had taken place aside from the obvious fact that little Charlie McGee had slaughtered the only family she had ever known. The emptiness had consumed her whole, leaving the child a lifeless shell. What was left for her in the world? What was her purpose? Why was she created?  
  
The child spent many nights awake in her room questioning her life and worth. During these restless nights she often considered suicide, figuring maybe it was the only thing left for her. Once or twice she even came close, but something pulled her back to reality. Something alien.  
  
Once, on a particularly terrible night, Skye sat trembling on her bed. When the nurse had taken her dinner tray away, she had smuggled the knife beneath her pillow. The old nurse was too wrapped up in some TV show she was missing to notice. And now, Skye sat upon her bed with the dirty knife lying uncomfortably close to her exposed wrist. Her eyes, pure white with no visible iris or pupil, turned to the dark ceiling above, glistening with tears she dare not shed. She pressed the blade deeper into her soft flesh, cringing at and yet almost reveling in the pain.  
  
*Damn you, Charlie McGee!*  
  
The blade pressed hard and the first drop of blood rose above the skin. Skye gasped in surprise, then smiled, realizing it would all be over soon. She press hard and watched as the deep red blood rolled down her wrist and dripped slowly on the pure white sheets of her bed.  
  
"Damn you!"  
  
*STOP!*  
  
The voice was strong and course, jolting Skye from her quest for eternal sleep.  
  
*You don't want to do that. Trust me. Now, pull the blade back.*  
  
For no reason she knew, Skye lifted the bloodied blade from her arm. This voice intrigued her for she knew it was not a voice caused by insanity. This voice had a concrete existence.  
  
"Who are you," the child called into the air, her strong voice reverberating off the walls.  
  
*Quiet, child. Do not attract attention to yourself…or me for that matter. Speak with your mind, not your mouth.*  
  
*Like this?*  
  
The voice laughed quietly and for a moment Skye thought she felt someone pat her head.  
  
*That's a good girl, smart girl. Now, I want you to find me.*  
  
Skye looked about the room as if expecting the person to magically appear. But all she saw was her dresser, desk, chair, and various stuffed toys. Nothing that resembled a person.  
  
*Where are you,* she asked cautiously.  
  
The voice sighed, *They have locked me away, dear child. They are afraid of me; much in the same way they are afraid of you.*  
  
*Of me?*  
  
*Yes. They are afraid of you. You posses something they don't have and that scares them. With a breath, you could easily gain the upper hand. Look around you child, you are as much a prisoner as I am locked in my cold cell.*  
  
Wide eyed, Skye surveyed her room closely for a second. There, in the corners were surveillance cameras. The single window was barred. The door was made of thick steel.  
  
*You see,* chuckled the voice, *you are unwillingly under their control. You are not living. You are a tool, a toy, which the have simply discarded. Of course they do not 'dispose' of you. They never know when the need for a child such as you will arise. How long have you been here?*  
  
*Almost three years,* replied Skye.  
  
*Ah, three years. That is quite a long time for such a young child. Personally, I have been here since the beginning. I am the first child of the Shop. Moved from base to base for…unfortunate reasons.*  
  
A chill ran up Skye's spine and she dropped the knife to the floor.  
  
*What—who are you?*  
  
The voice laughed, cold and harsh and out of instinct the child's hands flew to cover her ears as if it would help.  
  
*What am I? Ha! I am what you are. A creation of the Shop! I am not human, never was. I look like one, yes, but looks hold little value in this issue. You look human don't you? Yes, I am sure you do. But tell me miss…*  
  
*Skye.*  
  
*Miss Skye, are you human?*  
  
A sudden flash of lightning lit the room briefly. Skye could not help but scream.  
  
*Please, Skye! Please. Help me! You are the only one in this cursed place who understands me! I am lonely, afraid, cold and crave to see the sky again. Help me and I will make sure they will not do to you what they did to me.*  
  
Outside the door came footsteps. Skye figured someone had heard her scream and were coming to check on her. Or maybe…maybe this voice was right. Maybe they were afraid of her and would put her someplace frightening, cold, and lonely.  
  
*They are coming,* she cried.  
  
*Hurry child. There is not much time. Tear you bed-sheet and wrap your wound. Hurry!*  
  
Skye did as she was told, tearing a long, thick strip from her cotton sheets.  
  
*Can you pay attention to me while you take care of that,* the voice asked.  
  
*Yes.*  
  
*Good. Now, when they open the door, wait until they are a few feet inside the room, then I want you to get out of there any way you can. Attack them, distract them, whatever it takes, just get out. When you do, run to the nearest elevator. Once you are there, hold down the three and 'b' button. That will take you to the lowest floor. There you will find me.*  
  
Just as the voice finished, the door opened. Three men dressed in white lab coats and trousers entered in a V-shaped formation. Sky stiffened at their presence and tightened her make shift-bandage. Not once did her eyes leave the approaching men. One, she noticed, held a syringe in one hand, its contents unrecognizable in the dark. One of his companions also held something but he kept it concealed behind him.  
  
"You were right," she whispered to no one. "That's what they are going to do. You were right!"  
  
She shot up, white eyes blazing in the night. All three men jumped at the child's movement and tightened their formation.  
  
"Hello, Skye," one of them spoke. "How are you tonight?"  
  
"Go to hell," Skye murmured. The floor beneath them creaked ominously.  
  
"Now Skye. That was inappropriate. Oh, my, what happened to you hand?" The man in front reached for the child's wounded hand. Skye jumped back, holding he wounded arm close to her side. Unnoticed by anyone, a crack began growing unnaturally fast on the wall behind Skye.  
  
"Leave me alone."  
  
The headman grinned and reached for her again. "Come on, Skye. Let me take a look at that. You don't want an infection do you?"  
  
"I said leave me alone!"  
  
The wall swelled and burst as water rushed out. The men screamed and tried to hold their ground against the raging current.  
  
"Stop, Skye! Stop," they pleaded.  
  
*No Skye. Don't stop. This is what you must do.*  
  
Skye grinned. Yes, this is what she had to do. She was the one in control, not them. They fear her. She had the power.  
  
The floor tiles crumbled as jets of water gushed from more hidden plumbing. One of the men slipped, cracking his head on the dresser. He tumbled unceremoniously to the floor and Skye grinned at the sight of his blood swirling in the standing water.  
  
"You bitch! You little bitch," cursed the leader. He leapt forward, grabbing Skye by her long black hair. "Dr. D'Salle said to move you and not to harm you. But who cares what happens to you? Huh? You are a freak like all the others! There is no place for you in this world!" From his pocket he produced a small Swiss Army knife and held the blade against her throat. "If the doctor really misses you…he'll make another."  
  
The child, scared, closed her eyes, knowing very well what would happen next. This was it. Oh well, wasn't she the girl who only a few minutes ago was ready to end her life.  
  
*Skye! Don't you dare give up,* the voice screamed. *You have control! You hear me? You are in control!*  
  
Skye opened her eyes. That was right. She was in control. She had something these puny men did not. A stream of water was tearing past her hand, soaking her. *Water,* she thought, *my good friend. Will you help me?* Like a living creature, the water faltered then began winding about her arm. *Yes, you know what I want. What I need. You always do.* The water stopped its winding and dove into her loosely clenched fist, solidifying as it did. *Nothing big. Just enough to do damage…permanent.* Out of the corner of her eye she could see the ice blade forming, bending like a snake. When she felt the weight and length was right she tightened her grip upon the weapon. Instantly the water ceased. *Perfect. I thank you.*  
  
The man still held the blade to her throat still contemplating killing the child in his grasp. Why not? Like he said, D'Salle could make another if he wanted.  
  
"Are you done mulling over what ever was on your feeble mind," she asked.  
  
The man scowled at her. "Yes, if you really must know, I have."  
  
"Good. I'd hate to kill someone with something important on their mind," and with that tiny Skye drove her ice blade through the man's gut, twisting it until the point appeared on the other side. The man gasped and took a few steps back. This child had just stabbed him. A child! He stumbled back and fell to the floor, his hands clutching his stomach as if to stop the bleeding. Over him stood Skye, her unadulterated white eyes staring down him with such contempt.  
  
*Good job, Skye. Very good. Now take care of the man cowering in the corner.*  
  
Like a machine, Skye turned to the nearest corner to find the last of the men hunched down. Even from nearly ten feet away, she could tell he was trembling.  
  
"You," she ordered. "Get up!"  
  
As expected the man jumped at the sound of her voice but remained where he was. Skye narrowed her eyes at him then bent down until her hand was well in the bloodied water. This time the water knew what to make without command. In little time, a lance like piece of ice was in her petite hand.  
  
"No, please no," the man whimpered. "I didn't want to come. D'Salle made me. I swear I didn't—."  
  
"Can it! Do you really think I want to hear your begging for mercy? I may be little, but size doesn't matter!"  
  
She lifted the lance from the water and laughed maliciously as the man's eyes grew wider.  
  
"Oh, please. No…NOOO!"  
  
The lance flew clean and true piercing the last of the men immediately through the heart. His eyes were still wide as the blood drenched his white coat and spilled out of his mouth.  
  
*I'm proud of you Skye,* the voice spoke. *Now, come and see me. I wish to look upon you, to see just who this amazing child is.*  
  
Skye had found the voice's source in a dank cell in the lowest floor of the base. He was short, with greasy black hair that grew in a mass of long dreadlocks. His eyes were the bluest Skye had ever seen and his skin was so pale. He was underfed, that much was obvious.  
  
"Hello, Skye," he said simply. "I am Azela." 


End file.
